Bhattacharya. Picture by Bishwarup Dutta

Much of the scene has changed today. The television set beckons, so does the computer. Yet, some hope remains for the humble radio set in the form of umpteen FM channels. They provide a mind-boggling scramble to outdo one another in reaching out to listeners.

For me, as a listener in my adolescent years, the radio was unrivalled. Certain programmes held my interest, but Musical Bandbox never failed to capture my fascination on Sunday afternoons.

The compere had a fantastic voice. His programmes spelt magic. And he sounded like no one I had ever heard before! Years later, when I met him in person, he lost some of the “stardust”, because he became a tangible person, like you or I. So, perhaps a part of the enigma of broadcasting is the disembodied voice — where you can place your own trappings!

I little realised then that I would one day face a mike and present the same programme. When you first start broadcasting, or telecasting, your concentration is on your diction, the projection of your voice, your script, your sense of timing. It was really a one-way street. I was transmitting and there was a nebulous public, somewhere out there, that assumed the title of “listeners”.

Then something happened! I started handling a programme called Music for Children. I decided to bring in a variation — a music quiz. I think this was a pivotal point for me.

The first time, I received just six letters. One said, “I came in late, and missed the first question, Jija. Will you still accept my entry?” Another said, “I loved the quiz. Please give us more!” And so on. Little notes, but suddenly they made my listening world come alive! I think from that day on I always “spoke” to my listeners and each one became an “individual” to me.

I have often reflected on this relationship — for that is what it is. It brings together people you have never met and somehow, they get so close. You know the names of each member of their family. You know their preferences in music.

In the days when we received a deluge of mail in this programme, we watched our listeners grow, from adolescence to youth, and adulthood. We passed messages to and from love-struck listeners, heard them court each other. In some cases, we even got to play wedding songs for them. Then, we watched the children grow. How much closer can you get?

In recent years, I have met listeners who have greeted me with surprise! “I have grown up to the sound of your voice, Jija!” they say. To me, it is the most moving tribute. Today, transmission provides telephone linkage and various other means to reach the listener. For us, it was just the ubiquitous postcard, which sometimes did not even arrive on time!

How personal did this programme become? Let me relate an incident that grieves me even today. One of our listeners wrote an unusual note to me: “Jija, please play my request next Sunday.” He added, “Please, please don’t fail me, as this will be my last letter to you.”

The track he asked for was Terry Jack’s Seasons in the Sun. Naturally, I obliged, but I was left wondering why it would be his last request. I felt disturbed but tried to explain it away.

The answer came in a daily newspaper’s “Death Column” with words like “tragically” and “at this young age”. To this day, I think of this boy with the grief I would have felt for a friend.

A couple of years ago, a listener who never failed to keep Musical Bandbox spinning, through his years in love, the ups and downs of the married years, the advent of a child, sent me an invitation to his daughter’s birthday.

I decided to remain the “unseen voice”, and reciprocated by sending a card. A couple of years later, the daughter sent me a letter: “Dearest Aunty Jija, my father passed away and my mother is so depressed. Please, for the last time, will you play his favourite song? You know he never missed this programme.”

Incidents like these have left an indelible mark on me. For me, that is how Musical Bandbox will always be — a bond between the listener and the compere — unbelievably, incredibly personal!